


seeing reason (won't help you through this)

by Iambic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, Kink Negotiation, M/M, domesticity and dispute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/pseuds/Iambic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian's still operating like he's in Tevinter, and the Bull safewords the hell out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seeing reason (won't help you through this)

**Author's Note:**

> While there's a fair amount of frank discussion regarding sex, no one actually descriptively gets it on. Sorry if the rating got you all excited.
> 
> Also, shoutout to team Iron Bull Thirst Squad, for encouraging/enabling this fic into existence. You assholes.

Dorian moans and his hips hitch forward with the force of the smack on his ass, but the words don't come as easily to the Bull as they had done before. He thinks, disgusting, filthy, but they taste like poison and he can't keep them on his tongue. "Katoh," he says, instead, "katoh," and Dorian stills beneath him. The Bull passes a hand over his eye and up to the base of his horn.

It's not a matter of not being able to do it, because he's said that kind of shit to people in bed before. Like Dorian, they'd requested it; like Dorian, they got off on it. But there's a difference between then and now. Some kinds of damage just go too far.

Dorian says, "What," and then, turning himself over to face the Bull, as the Bull opens his mouth, "I do know what you said! But _what_?" He sits up on his elbows, a glance down toward the erections they're both still sporting, and then a glance away like he's thinking he got away with it.

"This is fine," the Bull says slowly, "calling you shit and all, but do you actually like it?"

This time Dorian looks down his body deliberately, and meets the Bull's eye afterward. "I'd say there's overwhelming evidence toward the positive."

"Not talking about if it gets you off."

That gets a frown and a gusty sigh from Dorian. "I thought that was the point. If I wanted an evening of entertainment and pleasant conversation I could have--" He pauses, and the Bull considers which end to that sentence Dorian thought better of. Found someone better to spend the evening with, probably. Someone whose eyes he would be upset about not being able to meet in the morning. Dorian says, "Kept my clothes on," after a moment, which is pretty much the same thing.

Well, they both entered into this knowing the deal. Dorian having to cope with slumming it, and the Bull with being a dirty secret. A badly kept dirty secret at that. The Bull says, "Plenty of shit gets you off," and Dorian still flushes like he wasn't the one just asking the Bull to degrade him. "But do you _like_ it?"

No response. Dorian looks to the side, mouth barely open, so at least he's giving it some thought. Still nothing out loud, though, so after giving him a moment the Bull adds, "You know what I think? You spend all that time fucking in dark corners and locked rooms, you start actually thinking all that stuff is true. You went and found the most taboo guy to fuck, and now you want me to tell you you're right about it making you a terrible person."

Dorian's attention and gaze snaps back, and he's outraged now, all right. "You don't know a thing about what it's like in Tevinter--"

"I know _you_ well enough," the Bull cuts in. "Couldn't even tell anyone you like men, even with Sera and me around being loud about what _we're_ into. Hadn't gotten laid for ages, you said, and you know plenty well you're an attractive man. And that shit with your family--"

He went too far there; Dorian bristles. "Do _not_ bring my family into this!"

"You're already ashamed of this!" the Bull shouts. Then, with more restraint, "You don't need my help for that."

He sits back on his heels when Dorian doesn't immediately respond, the moment well and killed. He crosses his arms. They're nothing serious, and Dorian gives nothing away, so there's no reason for the Bull to think he could be doing damage, but here he is anyway. Watching out for a man who doesn't even think himself worth worrying about. And wasn't that a bad beginning for this kind of arrangement?

It would matter less if this were just about Dorian getting hurt, but it's not, and it's pretty useless pretending otherwise. That's Dorian's thing, not the Bull's, pretending problems he doesn't want to face just aren't there. Bull's thing is noticing, just letting him do it anyway. Well, not anymore.

Dorian's mouth moves, and words follow: "It's not -- I'm not ashamed of you."

"Pretty sure you are," the Bull says, the anger already fading to exhaustion. He was never any use in this kind of fight, never cared enough about being right to let it carry him through. Flexing his fingers, he rests them on his bared thighs, considers a bath. Another one of Dorian's things, but one that might be effective for washing the rest of Dorian's things off.

But Dorian heaves a breath and finds the Bull's gaze again, holds it. "Bull," he says, and there's a very earnest dread in the crease between his eyebrows and the set of his jaw. "Despite my claims to the contrary, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to."

That's no denial, though, and Dorian knows it. The Bull rubs his face, and replaces the hand afterward. "It doesn't really matter if you want it. I'm not gonna feed your shame about me, or you, or whatever your problem is." He clenches the other hand and reopens it against the stiffness building in the joints there. It doesn't do much for the stiffness everywhere else.

Dorian glances at that hand, but doesn't reach for it, which wouldn't actually have helped. No words get spoken. But then, what the hell would he say. It wouldn't be Dorian to suddenly be forthcoming, and it wouldn't be realistic for all that shame to melt away just because the Bull called him on it.

There's no reason for it, but Dorian does speak after a while. "In Tevinter..."

"Gonna educate me now?" It's petty, but the Bull can't bring himself to care.

But of all things, Dorian nods. "You _don't_ know what Tevinter's like. Oh, sure, a man desiring men is selfish and a scandal, and that was enough to ruin me in my father's eyes, but there are ways to ameliorate that kind of poor reputation. I refused to live a lie. This had something of the opposite effect."

There's no explanation in his words, so the Bull assumes dramatic timing and waits, while Dorian rearranges himself into a seated position, knees tucked to his left side. Sure enough: "One could prove his worth as a man, so long as he only fucked, and were not fucked himself. So long as he demanded pleasure rather than offering it. And plenty of men preferred to salvage their pride that way."

"But not you," says the Bull, to Dorian, who has yet to want a role reversal, or at least to say anything about it.

"My great weakness," Dorian replies, falsely bright. "Couldn't even be a proper man about my perversions. That, and I suppose I'd rather not ask someone to degrade himself on my behalf."

The Bull has to laugh, though it's not really a happy one. He chafes his knees with his hands and says, "Then you should be able to figure out why I've got a problem doing it to you."

"But that's different!" Dorian insists, crossing his own arms. "I _asked_ you to."

"You did," says the Bull, "and now I'm saying no."

To his credit, Dorian doesn't argue, doesn't even get angry about it, but the momentary crestfallen look on his face isn't much better. Somehow, neither is the forced smile that replaces it. “Well,” he says, again with that false cheer, “that’s certainly within your rights. We all come with baggage, after all, and I’m sure you don’t need mine around as well. I’d, ah, offer to finish you off, but maybe it’s best….”

He’s casting around for his clothes. And he’s right about this; the Bull doesn’t need additional baggage, and he doesn’t need a regular fuck who can’t even admit to liking him. It would be completely reasonable to let him leave now, but the Bull extends a hand, takes Dorian’s shoulder with it.

“Easy,” he says, “I didn’t say I wanted you to leave.”

“And here I thought you’d lost interest,” Dorian replies, inclining his head toward the Bull’s admittedly limp dick.

“Good thing I’m not aiming to fuck you, then.” The Bull rolls his neck until it cracks, then settles into his seated position, but his hand stays where he laid it. “Not yet, anyway. You know, you never answered my question.”

Dorian looks down at the Bull’s hand on his shoulder, and then at his own hands, curled in his lap. “You’ll have to remind me,” he says, softer now. “Which question was that?”

There had only been the one question, but he’ll give Dorian the benefit of the doubt this time. “I asked if you even liked being called that shit. Dirty. Lesser. All those names you mentioned. Do they make you feel good?”

Instead of answering right away, Dorian brings his right hand up to grasp his left arm, just below the Bull’s hand. His fingers bite into the skin with far less care. In the Ben-Hassrath they called this “the unlocked door,” a sign the person being questioned had been made to feel vulnerable, but not yet defensive. Dorian says, eventually, “I suppose that was never the point.”

As Ben-Hassrath, the thing to do would be to leave that weakness where it lies, establish boundaries to keep it from interfering with the Bull’s mission. Back in Seheron, that was how they survived. But this isn’t Seheron, this is Dorian, as poor a Tevinter as the Bull is a Qunari. There was, he remembers, a reason they came together in the first place, and sex alone wouldn’t have done it.

_If they’re your enemy, give them what they want. If they’re someone you care about…_

“I don’t think I like the sound of these guys you used to fuck,” the Bull says, to the narrowing of Dorian’s eyes. “Sounds like they didn’t give two shits about you.”

“They weren’t at fault.” Dorian’s voice is flat with acceptance; nothing else would leave him that composed. “It was Tevinter. That was how it had to be.”

The Bull lets his hand slide down to cover Dorian’s. “This isn’t Tevinter.”

Maybe it’s too much, but Dorian only stiffens for a moment, and doesn’t make to pull away. He glances at their stacked hands, and then back up to the Bull’s face, and whatever he sees there lets him relax again. The Bull says, “The way I see it, all kinds of things can get you off, but that’s not what I’m in it for. I don’t really care if I get you off as long as I make you feel good.”

“And ne’er the twain shall meet,” deadpans Dorian, but there’s a slight crease around his eyes that gives the smile away.

“Generally speaking, getting off tends to make people feel pretty great,” the Bull allows.

“And you… actually enjoy making this a priority?” It’d be insulting, how confused this has made Dorian, if he wasn’t still dragging his feet under the spectre of Tevinter’s poison. As is, the Bull’s reminded a bit of Krem in the early days, the mess of suspicion and hero-worship he’d been just because someone had saved his ass and not bothered to judge it afterward.

It’s these damn Vints. Show ‘em even a little bit of decency and they don’t know what the hell to do with themselves. But Krem turned out to be the best damn second in command the Chargers could’ve asked for, and Dorian’s already on his way to something better than what he was. So maybe it’s not such a fool’s idea to want to be there to find out what that something turns out to be.

That’s getting a little ahead of himself, though, for a conversation that was supposed to be about sex. “Sure I do,” the Bull says, and his mouth goes crooked all on its own. “Taking someone where they wanna go? You make especially good noises when you like what I’m doing. Nothing so satisfying as instant validation that I’m still damn good at what I do.” He tips his horns, winks forever lost to the eyepatch.

Dorian smiles again, but it’s small and a lot more genuine. “You are, I’ll give you that.”

“So it’s not a big deal.” The Bull tugs Dorian’s hand loose of its grip on Dorian’s arm, and both their hands land in the space between Dorian’s knees. But Dorian doesn’t pull his own hand away. “No one here is gonna think less of you for fucking me, or getting fucked by me. ‘Cept maybe my men, they’ll want to know where you got such lousy taste."

“It’s the southern humours,” Dorian says. “Too long down here and sophistication simply oozes out the ears. Then it’s Fereldan ale and unwashed mercenary for the duration."

It’s probably not yet the moment to kiss him, but the Bull does this anyway. There’s another conversation yet to have, but they will have it later. He can trust in that now. He says, “I’ll hold you to that,” and Dorian huffs a breath that maybe says, stop talking, but maybe also, see that you do.

Somewhat later, several rearrangements into their second wind, Dorian says, “It’s not going to become instantly easy, you know. Adjusting to these southern ways. Even the less barbaric ones.”

The Bull thinks, it won’t be easy waiting for him to adjust either. But -- ultimately satisfying, in that seeing his own handiwork kind of way. “Hey,” he says, easing off biting Dorian’s shoulder to look him in the eye, “us barbarians, we’re not so bad. Maybe a little soft on runaway Vints, but we’ve all got flaws.”

“Some of us more than others,” Dorian says, flung like a barb, but there he is, apologising after all.


End file.
